


Ailuraphobia

by divisionten



Category: Ratchet & Clank
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3806887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divisionten/pseuds/divisionten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clank hadn't been born… actually, he had been born yesterday. He probably should fill his data files on Lombaxes if he were to be traveling with one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ailuraphobia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twelvepercentofaplan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvepercentofaplan/gifts).



> My first (and probably only) Ratchet and Clank story, unless I get another wave of inspiration. Takes place during the course of the entire first game, but there are some minor spoilers for Tools of Destruction, as well. Considering Tools itself is eight years old (holy crap!) and the first game is thirteen I'm going to assume that you didn't need a spoiler warning, but still.
> 
> There are people writing for this site younger than the original Ratchet and Clank game. This is both scary and awe-inspiring.

_**Veldin - partner?** _

B5429671 did not exactly have much time, if the Infobot he'd picked up was to be believed. He was lucky he hadn't disintegrated with that lazer blast straight to his main propulsion and crashed on to… scanned data banks… Veldin. Dry, dusty, Veldin. There was oil rigging here (how  _ **quaint**_ ), he'd scanned the surface as he fell to send out a distress beacon he ended up not needing, so there was sapient life somewhere nearby. The Veldinites were tall, lanky, semi-simian, similar in stature to Captain Quark, which his programming told him was the best person to contact in regards to the impeding doom falling on the galaxy. Hopefully someone knew who he was and where to find him.

The short, fuzzy creature he saw fixing a ramshackle space ship upon his own internal reboot was not what he was expecting- not even remotely Veldinite in appearance. But he had a ship (of sorts, given the varying definitions thereof) and seemed competent with a toolkit.

There were worse people to ask for help.

Not many, considered B5429671, as the ship shuddered to life on gum and shoestrings, but they  _ **did**_  exist.

* * *

  _ **Novalis - medicine**_

B5429671-  _ **Clank**_ , as he was beginning to get used to being called- had no frame of reference for dealing with Ratchet. He had ample data in his hard drive pre-installed about the universe around him, and access to the galaxy Net when he did not already know. But Ratchet's species was rare. Unusual. He was some kind of bipedal sapient felid, this was obvious. But, without a frame of reference, Clank had little to go by. Was his heart rate normal? Temperature? Were there foods poisonous to his species, or allergens?

"Ratchet, what  _ **are**_  you?" Clank asked, inquisitively as Ratchet punched in coordinates for Aridia on their new vessel.

Ratchet raised a fuzzy eyebrow, as he continued the preflight check.

"That was not meant as a slight, Ratchet. I was merely wondering what species you were in case I needed to acquire medical attention on your behalf. You seem to know your way around a spanner set to repair me, but I have no idea what to do for you. The basic nanites from any standard Gagetron outlet can repair flesh and bone, but they won't dull a fever or stop asphyxiation without the appropriate dosage of medicine infusions. You should get yourself a medical bracelet or similar apparatus."

"That wouldn't do too much, buddy. I'm a Lombax. Apparently," he said, with a bit of a growl at the back of the throat.

That was all Clank needed. He scanned the Net, quickly, finding… the results of war? An attack?

No survivors?

The brunt of it fairly recent, too, less than fifteen years ago. Recent enough that Clank had all the medical information on lombaxes downloaded without much hassle, but old enough that his pilot, cursing under his breath at the speed (or more specifically, lack thereof) of their new ship, wouldn't have been old enough to realize what had happened.

Clank quietly filed the medical information into long-term storage (an almost-universal affinity for cream products was added to his immediate banks as well), erasing the rest from his cache and drive.

Clank always knew there was a reason Ratchet felt so lonely after that day, but his memory banks told him not to pry further, so he couldn't put his finger on  _ **what**_.

* * *

  _ **Aridia - hunger**_

Skid McMarx and Ratchet sat down near a fire at the edge of the quicksand, Ratchet was quieter than expected, as he was practically rubbing elbows with one of his biggest idols. Tail twitching as if he sensed something Skid not Clank could not, he kept an eye out at the edge of the quicksand, and carefully threw a minibomb. A gurgling croak sounded, and he got up and retrieved his quarry- two large, fat toads. For someone who'd never held a weapon before, he'd turned out to be quite the shot. Lombax smell and hearing was in the top 5% of sapient species, so it was to be expected, but somehow, it still seemed to surprise Clank.

"Got a knife?" he asked Skid stuttering a bit (not at the dead toads, he seemed pretty competent in handling fresh meat- but talking to the hoverborder), who was inching away from the dead amphibians.

"No way, man. Now I'm loosin' my appetite."

"I can try to hunt down some rats? You said you liked frog."

"Not when it's  _ **lookin'**_  at me!"

"How would you like these prepared?" Clank interjected. "Considering the meager tools we have at our disposal, my suggestion is stuffing them with tekka leaves and roasting them over the flame. I can skin and filet them while you acquire the vegetation."

Ratchet looked dumbfounded. "How do you even know how to cook? You don't… eat, do you?"

"I looked up recipes off the Net and cross-referenced them with known flora and fauna of the nearby vicinity, tools at our disposal, as well as your and Skid's dietary needs. This computed as the best option, given the circumstance. I feel competent I could prepare it."

Ratchet frowned, and his tail twitched, slowly and erratically, a sign that Clank slowly understood meant that the teenager was lost in thought.

"Better than salmonella, I guess. Let me go grab the rest of the stuff. Where can I find it?"

"About 46 kliks in that direction," Clank replied, outstretching a hand. "Or, to be more precise," he added, taking Ratchet's left hand, or more specifically, the left glove with HelpDesk installed, "here. I have modified your terrain scanner. Just follow the yellow markers."

Ratchet twisted his wrist and looked at the small blue glow of the device. "Thanks, Clank."

An hour later and Skid and Ratchet were both leaning against a fallen desert log, looking up at unfamiliar constellations, while Clank tended the fire.

"Not bad, metalhead," Ratchet commented, idly. "Needed salt, though. Bit bland."

"Amphibians already have more than a recommended serving of sodium chloride for someone of your age and growth pattern," Clank replied.

"Recommended my butt. Needed more salt."

"But Ratchet, your overall health…"

"Whatever, I'll sweat it out of my paws. Drink more water or something and get it out of me that way. Have more potato, potata…"

"Potassium."

"That. If food is tasteless, it's not really worth eating, you know?" He shifted up, looking at Clank, green eyes to green eyes- optical sensors on one, and squishy on the other. "Or I guess you don't. Well, it was cooked well. Not raw, not overdone. The Miss could learn a thing or two from you, I guess. Just, a little extra salt, next time, yeah?"

Clank searched for Miss after Ratchet curled up awkwardly for the night, huddling in a fetal position to keep his vitals warm. It could not have been good for his back.

* * *

  _ **Kerwan - sleep**_

Clank didn't  _ **need**_  sleep. Sleep cycles gave some of his logic processors the opportunity to clean, refresh, and cycle without actually having to run at the same time, turning a twenty-hour debug into something that was eight or less when he shut down. But he could do that anywhere, standing upright. Ratchet needed sleep, Clank knew that, more than normal, considering his age. And the cockpit of their courier ship was not conducive to it, Clank noted, as Ratchet struggled to find a means of sleeping the nights before, curling in what looked to be the most uncomfortable fetal position considering what Clank knew of bipedal anatomy.

"We are renting a hotel room tonight, and that is final," Clank stated, as Ratchet ziplined down Quark's obstacle course on Metropolis (Clank still muttering into his speaker about how he  _ **knew**_ that had to have been Quark that greeted them on entry).

"We can't spare the bolts," Ratchet replied, as he twirled his wrench like a baton on the bottom platform. "We're getting fleeced by everyone here! Even Quark's trainer is shilling us for cash."

"I do not care in this instance; you are in no condition to keep this up, Ratchet. You need a proper rest. Even I need to recharge my batteries on occasion, so if not for you, then to spare the fuel costs of me recharging off the ship mainframe, then," Clank logically maneuvered. "It would be cheaper to even rent a mid-tiered room than refill our tanks from the wasted gelonium. You having a bed could be seen as an additional boon, if you prefer it that way."

Ratchet huffed. "You win, buddy. Let's see if we can't find someplace to crash for a while. I could use a shower, anyway."

When Clank came back online after finishing Cycle 1, he put Cycle 2 on hold to check up on Ratchet. His fur had fluffed out a bit- he must have cleaned himself after Clank plugged into the wall socket. And he hadn't gone under the covers, instead, making a nest of them, curled up in a ball atop them, ears drooping over his eyes, hands, out of gloves and balled into tiny fists, with his tail wrapped up and around him and his legs curled inward.

In the same fetal position as he'd slept on both Aridia and in the vessel.

Ratchet hadn't been sleeping uncomfortably in the ship, then. This was simply how his species rested, similarly to a feral cat.

Clank added this to his sub-database, and mentally promised that he'd only bring up another hotel stay if  _ **he**_  needed it, not Ratchet.

* * *

  _ **Eudora - nature**_

"Ah, ah…" Ratchet sneezed loudly, fluid dripping from his eyes, before letting out a violent sneeze that shook his body, Clank's by extension.

"I see nothing here regarding a floral allergy within your species, nor did you exhibit these symptoms on Novalis," Clank commented, as Ratchet sneezed again. "I do hope you are not becoming ill."

"There are  _ **individuals**_  with allergies, too, Clank, and different plants here to boot. I'm getting some antihistamine nanites at the next Gadgetron outpost."

"But  _ **if**_  you are ill…"

"I'd be puking. Badly."

"But…"

"I'm not trying to shrug it off," Ratchet replied, as he rubbed goo out of his nose and on to his forearm, fur sticking up in clumps. "But I do know a thing or two about my own body. I can tell you I'm  _ **not sick**_."

Clank estimated his temperature from within the harness, anyway, just to be safe.

* * *

  _ **Nebula G34 - trust**_

Ratchet released the affix on the harness, and Clank popped off, jumping down.

"I will be as quick as I am able," Clank said, as he walked toward the airlock.

"I'll wait here for you. Take your time," Ratchet replied, holding out a gloved hand in a fist, expectantly. Clank flexed his own three digits into a fist of his own and returned the favor, bumping lightly before pressing the decompressor button, watching the plexiglass slide shut as the hatch led him outside. As he wound his way around the artificial gravity enabled catwalks, he peeked back towards the main station door.

Ratchet held his wrench in a paw, as he balled up tightly against the door.

Clank picked up the pace. In his incredibly short life thus far, he'd never seen anyone who looked that lonely and afraid.

* * *

  _ **Rilgar - cleaning**_

Ratchet checked is credit account, seemingly excited. "We are renting a room again tonight, if I'm entering that tournament and meeting Quark, I need to not smell like I half-drowned in the bay. Which I sort-of-did." He wrinkled his nose. "I'm going to need to find a Laundromat, too."

"I will recharge, then" Clank replied, as he scanned the Blackwater City hotel guide, picking one in a decent part of the city, one that included free breakfast, to boot. Ratchet may not need a bed, but he did still need food, and wild-caught frog and rat alone were not a balanced meal.

They checked into the hotel (only after the concierge bot flirted with Clank while Ratchet silently laughed and rolled his eyes) and Ratchet made the fastest beeline Clank had ever seen- faster, even, than running from the saw-blade bots on Eudora while hopped up on some odd mix of antihistamine and synthetic adrenaline- straight for the bathroom. Clank heard the sounds of cloth flapping, and Ratchet stuck an un-gloved (and wickedly clawed) hand out of the doorway, dropping his pants, harness, and undergarment at the door.

"Look, I know this is a tall order, but I don't have any other clothes. Could you get these clean for me? They stink."

"I will take your word for it, Ratchet, as I have no olfactory sense built in. I think there is a bolt-op unit on the first floor. Any instructions?"

"No bleach… that's about it? They're work clothes so they can take a beating. Oh, don't wash the harness. I'll do that in the sink when I get out. Thanks."

Clank balled up the fabric, noting the rough texture with his optical sensors- his sense of touch was utilitarian only, so the only way he could gauge textures or thicknesses was with his scanners and eyes. He walked down to the laundry room and dropped the two garments in the washing unit, barely filling the bottom.

Ratchet  _ **had**_  been quite poor.

After paying for soap, fabric softener, and the fee for the machine with the handful of bolts Ratchet left behind, Clank popped open his shutters and counted his personal bolts in reserve. Ratchet  _ **needed**_  more than one pair of pants.

* * *

 After the most wonderful shower Ratchet had in quite some time, he flicked the operator on the head to shift the spout out to the tub. He ran a sharp claw around the drain catch and pulled up a mound of yellow fuzz before locking the drain down, pitching the fur into the trash can nearby, before stretching out in the warm water, flexing his toes and flicking his tail lightly in contentment. He was stuck until his clothes were clean, anyway.

"Ratchet?" came Clank's voice from beyond the door. "The wash and dry cycles are in a single unit and should be done in about an hour and a half. I am stepping out for a bit, and will knock upon my return if you want to stretch out and watch a holovid." Clank paused, and added some advice as he closed the door behind him. "Don't over-use the hot water. You'll peel the paint off the walls."

About an hour later, Clank returned, knocking first as promised. He knew sapient organics had something of a hang-up about not being covered by clothing, at least partially, dropping a large white bag on the bed before telling Ratchet he was going to get a quick oil change before retrieving his clothes from the machine.

"I purchased something useful for you, Ratchet, if you wish to step out to the main room when I leave. I will see you in a little less than an hour."

When Ratchet heard the door close again, he wrapped himself in the fluffiest towel, shaking off excess water out of his fur, and went to see. Folded neatly in the bag were several pairs of cargo pants and a wrapped package of boxers. Ratchet got dressed and retrieved his card key from the dresser. He could finish doing his own laundry, thank you.

* * *

_**Umbris - rage** _

"He's going to pay," Ratchet growled, quite literally,  _ **growled**_  at the massive carcass sprawled out before him it stunk of singed fur and raw meat, and Ratchet kicked his foot into the dry, cracked ground before turning away, giving Clank a glimpse of the corpse as he pounded his way back updeck to their ship.

Ratchet sat in silence for some time in the cockpit, growling at nothing in particular, and clinging to the controls so hard Clank feared he might break a finger (the controls, however, he wasn't so worried about. Ratchet weighed just 41.6 kilos on a good day; he simply didn't have the force to break the raritanuim pads).

Clank's logic processors were fairly impressive; he'd even started to develop a dry sens of humor from the short amount of time he'd spent with the young (no, Clank was technically younger), small (natch on that as well) one. The inexperience… no wait, Clank was still less than he there, too.

No matter what label he tried to put on the situation, it didn't change much. Ratchet, quite literally the only person he could hope to save the galaxy, was fuming at another problem entirely, one that could sole itself  _ **after**_  Drek, making it far less of a logical priority.

For the first time, Clank couldn't understand. Oh, he understood the source of Ratchet's anger well enough. Cause and effect were simple enough for all but the most automated robots to comprehend and Clank was  _ **far**_  past that.

The lack of logic, however, was… unsettling. Did Ratchet truly not see the danger of allowing Drek free reign of Solaris?

* * *

  _ **Batalia - fuzz**_

Clank didn't think one could land a ship  _ **angrily**_ , but, to be fair, he'd only been 'born' a week prior. And Ratchet had been seething in on himself for  _ **hours**_. Clank wanted to help, to do something, but he really had no clue where to start. And he wasn't about to suggest a detour for sweets, the only thing his database had told him Ratchet liked. As Clank had been insistent on ignoring Quark, he had to be on all detours. Rewards could come later.

Once the hatch opened, Clank half expected Ratchet to stomp out on the marshy lands alone, but he did pause to help Clank out of the ship and onto his back, if just a bit too forcefully, twisting the servo in his arm a bit more than he'd like, but nothing to break a stress point. It was a  _ **start**_ , at least, even if Ratchet wasn't talking to him at the moment.

Ratchet and Clank both scouted. There were a few lone soldiers up the cliffside, trying to take back an old base, but not nearly enough men for the job. Many of the residents had already fled, and the rest were huddled in tents near the bottom. Ratchet silently turned towards the tents first, siding down a moderately sized hill to their center.

"Hey," he said simply to a local, no malice or anger present in his voice. He seemed…  _ **polite**_? "You wouldn't have any food or fuel to spare, would you? I have bolts, though I don't know if you could use them right now. Or I could fix up some of your machinery, if you'd prefer."

The squat grey local gave Ratchet a once-over. "You're the one the Blarg have been talking about, eh? You match the description pretty well. There's quite the bounty on you."

Ratchet took a few large steps back, looking for an opening to flee.

"Hah! Kid, look at us. You think we'd turn you in for a few bolts? We want our  _ **home**_ , not some petty cash. Keep your money, but if you could fix some of our things while you eat, we'd appreciate it."

Ratchet sighed, ears and shoulders relaxing as they led him to a makeshift dining tent, passing him tins of simple stew and bread. One of the women handed him some communications units that had become inoperable. Ratchet took out a toolkit from one of his pants pockets, and began tinkering idly, his tail swishing lightly in contentment.

Maybe having something to take his mind off Quark was exactly what Ratchet needed to getting back to the mission. Clank took an opening.

"Those are Gadgetron standard. Pass me a 3.5 centicubit spanner, Ratchet, and I can get to work on one as well."

"Sure."

 _ **Sure**_  was a start, Clank thought, as he unhooked off the affix and stood on the bench next to Ratchet, even head heights for the first time with Ratchet sitting alongside. The two of them quietly worked on projects- comm units, nav-pods, assorted light weaponry, as Ratchet occasionally stopped to inhale a bite of stew or rip off a piece of hard brown bread.

"Kitty!" chirped a small voice that nearly broke Clank's concentration. Both of them looked down to see a little Batalian girl snuggling a well-worn pair of plush toys. One was a soft Batalian doll in traditional dress… the other a Lombax in strange, stiff fitting clothing. Clank wondered if that was what Ratchet's people normally wore, but his memory banks came up both empty and a warning with his own signature not to look for further information. What Clank  _ **did**_  know is that Ratchet had  _ **not**_  liked being called 'Kitty' by the race announcer back on Rilgar during the hoverboarding tournament. No one bit. And Ratchet had calmed down by degrees, but Clank could tell by his heart rate and core temperature that Ratchet's hackles were still pretty high. This was not going to be good, no matter what…

But Ratchet just smiled at the kid.

"Seems like you've seen me before, huh?" he said, pointing at the doll, as the girl's eyes went wide.

"Kitty talks?"

"Kitty has a name, too," he said, with a bit of laughter. "I'm Ratchet. Who are you?"

"Lola," she said, clutching the two stuffed animals… well, stuffed people, tighter.

"You want to help?" Ratchet asked, holding out a screw bit with one hand, and pushing the blaster he was fixing aside in favor of something less destructive.

"Yeah!" she cried, and hopped up on the bench in between us, plopping the toys on the table facing her, as if they were watching her work.

"So, ever repaired a pocket glider before?" Ratchet asked, s he sifted though his tools for the ones he'd need.

* * *

 After another hour of work, Clank finished up the last of the weapons and Ratchet and Lola closed the grav-case on the glider. Clank saw in Ratchet's eyes that he really wanted one for himself, but it wasn't his to take.

"Ummm…" Lola mumbled after they'd finished.

"Yes?" Ratchet asked, baiting.

"Can… can I pet your ears?" Lola asked sheepishly. Clank kept is expression neutral (after all, there was only so much one could do with metal features, but he'd gotten quite good at giving annoyed stares by closing his optical shutters to thin slits) but he knew that was probably crossing a line. Ratchet was sapient, obviously so, and…

"Just don't pull, okay?" Ratchet replied, bending his head down a little for Lola to reach.

Lola's mother, meanwhile, was with the rest of the temporary mess staff prepping for their next meal and looking at Lola out of the corner of her eye while she gingerly patter the soft fur on Ratchet's ears. She blinked slowly, looking at the young Lombax who looked almost  _ **exactly**_  like another than had stopped by Batalia about fifteen years ago with an infant child. Normally, she wouldn't have remembered a single soul passing through; she had run a large restaurant in the capital before the Blarg invasion and had many customers over the years. But, back then, she was just starting out in her business with her sister, and the man had left a toy behind for her sister's daughter, who had eventually passed it off to Lola, well loved and worn.

She wondered if the fuzzy toy had actually been the young kid's, and had half a mind to ask her daughter to give it to him, if for nothing else but sentiment and helping fix several thousand bolts worth of machinery.

But, as he sat up and slung the robot that had been on the beck over his shoulder, he patted the toy with a free hand.

"You'd better keep a good eye on her, yeah? She gets into trouble, I'm blaming you."

* * *

  _ **Orxon - toxin**_

Clank did not particularly mind being shoved out the airlock on Orxon to scout for some Blargian technology, not physically at least. He didn't have nerve endings like an organic, and he didn't have a pathos system that simulated pain or shock sensors that some robots did (mostly meant for testing extreme conditions for organic life). If an arm broke, he'd only know from the damaged servo or circuit, or a diagnostic warning.

Ratchet had been warming back up- slowly, but he had- so the roughhousing was more to keep the poison air from leaking into the main ship cabin, but he'd still dented a plate under his right arm in the process. Fixable, certainly, and a mark of considerable restraint considering Ratchet could have dropped Clank out of the airlock from altitude instead, even at Clank's offer of the option.

Somehow, it didn't make the lonely trek hurt any less. Clank had started the ordeal as a partner with some semblance of similar objectives; now he was really beginning to  _ **like**_  Ratchet.

* * *

  _ **Gaspar - ears**_

Clank understood Ratchet's continued seething, personal vendetta- he understood Ratchet's distaste at a dream shattered before him, now that the original anger of Quark's betrayal had died down and the deeper problem surfaced in Ratchet's mind of having been thoroughly lied to. And, so, Clank took the complaint and irritation without contributing his own back to Ratchet. Somehow, Clank knew after the child (because, yes, the five-foot-nothing furball that was currently carrying him  _ **was**_ a child, Clank's own recent 'birth' notwithstanding) had cleared his head completely, possibly even confronted Quark along the way, he'd be willing to do the right thing.

Right now, Clank did not know if Ratchet could survive long in this heat. This planet had temperatures beyond what Ratchet seemed to tolerate, as arid as both Veldin and what Clank's memory banks had pinpointed as ideal humidity (almost none), but with far more heat.

And Ratchet's species did not sweat, except from their paws. Ratchet might actually fall unconscious or worse in these temperatures. He needed some way of cooling off quickly.

Clank scanned his data, using a core normally reserved for speech, just to find the information fast enough. He could handle not responding to Ratchet for 42.68 seconds while he processed ideal scenarios.

"Open your ears wider in lieu of flushing them against the side of your face," Clank spoke up, after running through his information. Ratchet did not reply, keeping his ears pressed to the side of his head, still trying to minimize his presence against the heat.

"Your species natural cooling mechanism is running warm blood to the thin membrane of the inside of your ear, cooling it rapidly as it comes just under the surface of the skin at that point. I guarantee that you will feel less flush."

Ratchet said nothing other than a low growl, but, when Clank looked up, Ratchet had fanned his ears out as far as they could go, and moved with more fluidity soon thereafter.

* * *

  _ **Pokitaru - breath**_

"I'm going for a dive. After Gaspar, this is freaking paradise." For the first time since Quark's betrayal, Ratchet seemed… if not calm, then at least willing to speak to Clank on  _ **true**_  even terms. Clank appreciated this, but the last thing he wanted was to lose his friend- yes, friend- in the reefs right after he'd begun to become… less of a jerk, for lack of better descriptor.

"The depth of the pools run over 5,000 cubits down. You will not be able to dive far enough to see the reefs and return to the surface before you drown, Ratchet."

Ratchet held up a black helmet with a strange apparatus in front. "Just scored a rebreather from the resort owner and free access to the primo diving spots. I'll be fine."

"There are three species of flesh eating fish in that reef," Clank protested. "And that's just recorded species. If the dive cages were operational, I would not be taking such issue, however…"

"I have minibombs," Ratchet replied, defensively. "And at least six different guns that fire underwater,  _ **and**_  a fully loaded Glove of Doom."

Clank sighed and shook his head before latching on to Ratchet's back. Someone had to prevent him from destabilizing an entire ecosystem every time they took a minor detour.

* * *

  _ **Hoven - warmth**_

Gaspar almost seemed like a paradise, now, with the chill of Hoven upon them. Ratchet was shivering fiercely with each step. Clank regretted only buying clothes similar to what Ratchet already wore, but in his defense, they'd never even anticipated needing to venture somewhere this frigid.

"You should put on your Magne-" Clank started, thinking that wearing some sort of shoe to separate Ratchet's feet from the ground would be a good idea, before realizing that all they'd do would make Ratchet's feet colder (as an ionized metal), as well as attract the metal of his own weaponry. "No. Not the Magneboots. Wear your Grindboots, Ratchet."

"They're like stilts! How am I supposed to walk in those on land?" Ratchet flicked an ear indignantly, and pressed both against his skull in an attempt to keep the heat from escaping.

"They might actually work in a similar fashion to skis. I do not think you wish to give yourself frostbite."

"I… hm… waitasec…" Ratchet pulled the boots from compressor storage and put them on his feet, flexing his cold (but thankfully not frostbitten) toes inside. The spokes of the boots elevated him off the cold, hard, ground, and he awkwardly positioned himself on an angle and kicked off down the incline.

"Best. Idea. Ever!" Ratchet cried with a whoop and holler as he flung himself down the icy trail bludgeoning anything in his path with his combat wrench.

Adrenaline junkie, Clank thought to himself icily, pun not lost on him.

Clank no longer was worried about frostbite. Now his main concern was a potential concussion.

* * *

  _ **Gemlik Base, Oltanis Orbit - relief**_

Ratchet slumped in the pilot's seat.

"It's over, Clank, we got him," he said, sighing, watching Quark's ship plummet towards Oltanis. "Sorry for being such an ass." He finally relaxed, his shoulders sagged into the plastic leather seat and his ears drooped loose.

"Apology accepted. Shall we finish what we have started with Drek?"

"Yeah. Let's go,  _ **buddy**_."

* * *

  _ **Oltanis - sudden termination**_

Clank woke up in the cockpit. He didn't remember running a sleep cycle, but it was possible. He never got a chance to sift through his own instruction manual at breadth.

"You okay there, buddy?" Ratchet asked from behind. Clank rotated his neck axis, and saw Ratchet's tool kit upended on the pilot's seat, with Ratchet squeezed in between the two chairs to work on Clank's now-open rear hatch.

"Did I…"

"Fried by lightning," was Ratchet's curt reply as he stuck a pair of pliers in his mouth and clipped something in Clank's insides with a wire cutter.

"Jooosh a seccondth," Ratchet said awkwardly with the pliers in his mouth. Clank felt both arms power down, hanging limp at his sides. Ratchet pulled out some fresh cabling, and slowly tweezed out the old wire, holding them up in Clank's vew to show the frayed and electrocuted bits. Clank heard a click and a whirr as Ratchet put in new wire, flexing his fingers the moment he was able. Ratchet finished with the backside, closed up the hatch, and turned Clank to face him for the rest of the repairs, working with a focus Clank had never seen before.

Ratchet had thought Clank had been friend beyond repair; of  _ **course**_  he was concerned.

"You're staying in the ship, buddy. I checked the weather reports; this place is almost continuously storming. Something to do with negatively charged ions in the atmosphere, I dunno, meteorology isn't really my thing. We don't have the luck or time to wait this out; could be weeks."

"It's dangerous," Clank protested.

"The buildings are tall. You were a target because you're metal, and all the structures here are made from carbonfiber, local sentry bots included. If I go alone and hug the buildings, I won't get shocked."

"Don't die."

"Hey, you already did today. If that's not a warning, I don't know what is." Ratchet flicked Clank's red indicator light and slid out of the cockpit, leaving behind the mess of his tools and Ratchet's gutted insides.

Clank could at least have he place cleaned up before Ratchet returned.

* * *

  _ **Quartu - lineage**_

"I hope I can made you proud," Clank said, looking up at the terminal screen- his  _ **mother's**_  terminal screen. He was quite glad he could not cry like an organic, leading Ratchet from the room before his logic circuits took a nosedive. He understood, really  _ **understood**_  how Ratchet put Quark first now. Emotions were a strange beast.

Ratchet looked down. "Hey," he said, no extra words needed.

"Hey, yourself, Ratchet."

"This planet is pretty dangerous. And the Blarg may come back and dismantle this stuff when they're done with their planet."

"I was considering the exact same thing, Ratchet."  _ **We don't really have the time to aste, we can do this when we finish**_ , were the logical outcomes Clank was predicting… but something else, something… organic… in the back of his mind said otherwise.  _ **I need to make sure she is safe**_ **.**

"Do you want me to go back in and ask your mother if she'd like some upgrades? Defense grid or something?"

"I would… not be opposed to the detour, no."  _ **Please.**_

"OK, as a bot, you can walk this facility without getting shot, right?"

"I do still have my wireless communications unit synched with the mainframe of the planet, so yes."

Ratchet pulled out a discarded takeout menu from Metropolis Burger, and began scribbling parts on every margin.

"Grab me these, ok? I'll have a talk with your mom.

Clank ran back into the facility as fast as his tiny legs could carry him.

* * *

  _ **Kalebo III - terminal velocity**_

"You are insane, Ratchet." Clank knew he wasn't going to fall (or more precisely, that he was perfectly secured to Ratchet's back. He had no such promises of Ratchet surviving the rails, and his flight upgrades could only carry them so far).

"Hey, it's fun. I want another go when we get off these- there's another set that way," Ratchet said giddily as he flipped from one rail to another running parallel. "Plus, I think you're starting to like this."

"Ratchet, if I were organic, I think I would have dislodged the contents of my stomach three point two minutes ago. Give or take five percent standard error, of course."

* * *

  _ **Drek's Fleet, Veldin Orbit - duty**_

"That's my  _ **home**_ ," Ratchet said, horrified, as the infobot revealed Drek's location for his new colony.

The word  _ **Fastoon**_  instead of Veldin flashed briefly in Clank's mind, but he brushed it off as a minor error from the thunderstorm. When all of this was over, he'd ask Ratchet for access to a workshop that  _ **wasn't**_  the ejector seat of their stolen ship. For now, he'd deal with the minor issues at hand.

" _ **This**_  is the Ratchet I know," Clank replied, holding out a hand. "Someone who is willing to stand up against bullies."

"And then take the longest nap of my life."

"I do believe I still owe you a cream pie."

"You never promised me…" Ratchet's tail twitched, and his ears flared up. "No, because you promised me three. Pies. And ice cream."

Clank realized the promise was an unspoken one meant to assuage Ratchet's ego back on Batalia, but he'd front the bolts. Pies weren't  _ **that**_  expensive. And Ratchet had been running around planets for the past two weeks like an ape. A few slices of pie wouldn't be that detrimental to him. He probably needed the extra carbohydrates.

"All of that fat and sugar is going to make you lethargic. I suggest some form of whole grains, fresh vegetation, and a low-sodium broth," Clank replied, a hint of lighter in his voice.

"I'll take some low sodium broth and shove it straight in your exhaust port," Ratchet said with a smile, as he swung Clank up to the harness and headed for their ship.

"Yes, Ratchet. I owe you three cream pies after we finish."

"I want them within ten minutes of kicking Drek off my home."

"Where's the nearest bakery?"

"About a twenty minute hoverbike ride from my garage."

"Which would mean…"

"Hey, if we're saving the planet, I'm breaking the speed limit when I'm done."

* * *

  _ **Veldin - partner (without question).**_

There were worse people to ask for help.

Pretty much anyone other than the person he was strapped to, actually.


End file.
